


in my chest

by scottmczall



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4174359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmczall/pseuds/scottmczall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets the hang of new Saturdays quickly, memorizing just how long he can actually keep his mouth on Scott, how many times they can go at it again, getting to know each other's bodies—and it's all so much better than finding frogs by the lake and releasing them inside an establishment of choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in my chest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Po! May your kinky soul live on after you're long gone (you're an elderly now, it's time to start thinking about your legacy). And I probably gagged a few times, but this title _is_ , in fact, a lame ass pun, in your lame ass honor. My first Sciles smut to ever see the light of day goes to you, wife :)

Stiles loves Saturdays and has for a long time, ever since he and Scott were younger and had the whole day free for the uttermost senseless shit they could possibly pull together, relishing on his dad's weekend shift, doing anything that'd leave them dirty and bruised—anything that'd drive their parents insane. That was good and he hadn't thought it could've gotten any better, but life happens, and sometimes it just does it _right._  

 

They hadn't been dating for more than three weeks, but still, Stiles gets the hang of new Saturdays quickly, memorizing just how long he can actually keep his mouth on Scott, how many times they can go at it again, getting to know each other's bodies—and it's all so much better than finding frogs by the lake and releasing them inside an establishment of choice. 

 

Today, though, Saturday has gone slightly awry, with the Sheriff's day off and whatnot, forcing them to retreat to other activities.

 

"You're such a fucking asshole! What the fuck was that? Jesus, fuck you, Scott!" Stiles yells for about the fifth time today. "This map fucking sucks!" He throws the video game control down on the bed and knocks Scott's right out of his hands. He's exaggerating, really, but, in his defense, this is not what he'd been waiting all week for at all, and his nerves are running high.

 

Scott laughs, intaking a shallow breath in surprise, "You're the most sore loser ever." 

 

"I'm no loser. You're just a cheater. A cheating cheat asshole werewolf cheater!" Stiles sneers, pushing him by the shoulder and rolling his eyes when Scott doesn't even move. Sometimes he misses how it felt to be matched up when it came to their physical strength, and how he could actually get Scott to feel the light punches he'd throw sometimes in exasperation. 

 

"Right, that's totally not what a sore loser would say." Scott smiles, unfazed.  

 

"Whatever, who the fuck likes Call of Duty anyways? This shit got old." He shrugs, "Halo, though—Halo is eternal. And we both know I own your ass at Halo." 

 

Scott shakes his head lightly, "No, you don't." He denies, and Stiles' nostrils flare because this is true, and he's aware that his original reign is at computer games—where he would gladly annihilate Scott's entire existence if he could just convince Scott to actually play with him there in the first place.

 

"Well, I own your actual ass generally, so I think I'm good." Stiles gloats, flirty, throwing Scott a devious look. 

 

The truth is, no matter how into trying to win he may be, he's still _horny_ , turned on since friday by the simple yet very, very influential prospect of parting Scott's cheeks and carefully running his tongue through his hole just before fucking into it. It's a new routine, but nonetheless, its brokenness gets to him. 

 

The wolf closes his eyes, being the one to do the pushing this time, "You suck." 

 

"I do." Stiles nods, moving against Scott's hand, inching closer, "But I do it so good, don't I, Scotty?" His tone drops about a quarter, a smirk taking over his lips when Scott's cheeks flush in the slightest. 

 

"Dude your dad's just downstairs." Scott apprehends. He's still grinning, though, so Stiles gets closer, tugging him by the waist, urging Scott to sit on his lap. "Stiles—" He tries again, but Stiles kisses him right on the crook of his neck, where Scott's the most sensitive, and Scott falters, voice breaking audibly. 

 

"He's not gonna hear us." Stiles argues then latches on to his boyfriend's skin, sucking hard, merciless as he is. He clutches to Scott's shirt harder and pulls, actually bringing a very willing Scott to his lap this time.

 

"That's no fair," Scott croaks, not sounding all that bothered.

 

Stiles likes the kissing, he'd kiss Scott all over for hours if he could, just to watch the way his eyes flutter close and his mouth hang open—how he'll sometimes try and talk, losing his line of through completely, words becoming huffs of hot breath. He can't actually see any of that right now, but he's got a good memory for things like these. "What's that, Scotty?" Stiles hums, his arms noosing around Scott's waist. 

 

Scott takes in a breath, "I _said_ that's no fair." He repeats, hands slipping under Stiles' shirt, and caresses the sides of his boyfriend's body, thumbs pressing hard, trailing the lumps of Stiles' ribs as he counts them silently. When there's no response, Scott runs a thumb over Stiles' nipple. 

 

The reaction is immediate—Stiles stiffens for a moment before his head falls back, a brief whine leaving his parted lips.

 

"Shit, Sc-cott," His voice trembles and he closes his mouth, running his tongue through his bottom lip, "I—I didn't—" 

 

"You didn't think I knew?" Scott leans forward, stealing a quick kiss, "Didn't think I noticed how you'd flinch when I touched you here?" His thumb goes at it again, and this time Scott traps the nub loosely with the help of another finger, pulling slowly, carefully. "Huh?" Scott presses and Stiles screws his eyes shut, biting down on his bottom lip like his life depends on it. "I notice everything about you." He reminds him and lets go, watching attentively as Stiles' eyes shoot open, wide and dark. 

 

"I didn't think you'd—I mean, you don't mind, right?" Stiles asks hurriedly, pulling Scott impossibly close by the waist, revelling shamelessly at how their bulges slide slowly as he does, his breath hitching before he knows it.

 

Scott frowns, bulking his hips, and at first it's all pleasure, but it serves confusion easily when he assimilates Stiles' question, "Why would I?" He pulls Stiles' shirt up, signaling so he'll help, and Stiles does, pulling it right out of his body. 

 

He's got broader shoulders now, a wider chest that fits him right, even though Scott wouldn't have guessed this out of the scrawny kid Stiles used to be. He's flushed red down his neck, the color following down his clavicle and collarbones. Scott pulls his head back by the hair in a careful grip, looking into his dazed eyes, and Stiles swallows hard, waiting. "Were you ashamed?" Scott inquires earnestly, moving back on his boyfriend's lap. Stiles protests at first, but then Scott's leaning down and capturing one of his nipples with his mouth, and not much else seems to matter.

 

"Scotty!" He squawks, voice going high pitched. Stiles arches into the sharp sensation of Scott's mouth on him, trying to bar the noises forcing themselves at the back of his throat, and his head spins, face growing warmer and warmer by the second as Scott works him just right, tongue flicking and soothing right as his teeth scrape around his sensitive skin. "Scott—" He urges again, and doesn't know for _what_ , but it's out there, and he _needs_ it. 

 

"It's okay," Scott reassures, one hand trailing down Stiles' temple and stilling when it cups his cheek. "We should lie down." He suggests. Stiles' bones are too limp for him to fight Scott on this, and it's not like he has a reason to, so he just slides down, taking some control over his elbows to help himself down. 

 

Scott maneuvers himself, following Stiles, kissing him on the lips when he's flat on the bed. Scott kisses like the world is a Nicholas Sparks movie, slow and loving, full in a way Stiles can't explain, nor comprehend. This changes when he's sweaty, his cock drooling nonstop and there's a pleasure grimace molding his features—then it gets loose and open, gaping and noncommittal. Stiles couldn't chose in between them if he had to. 

 

When they break apart, Scott goes right back to where he was, wrapping Stiles' nipple in between his lips and closing them bluntly round it. He can feel how much Scott's into this just by how his eyes flick up to watch Stiles' face whenever his tongue works a little harder, how he closes his eyes, entirely invested.  

 

"Scott," Stiles calls again, and it feels like there's not another word he's capable or allowed to use right now. He's hard on strains against his pants, his hips canting, looking for a friction it won't find. Scott stills him, holding his waist down easily and his tongue never even stops stroking his nipple as he opens Stiles' zipper. 

 

Eventually, though, his attention roams elsewhere, "Oh, you're really, really into this, aren't you?" Scott comments idly when he takes Stiles' cock on his hand, making a fist around it and tightening his grip in no time. "D'you wanna come already?" Scott asks sweetly, and Stiles knows he actually means to get an answer out of this. _Scott's so good, so, so good_ , his mind fires nonstop. 

 

"Yeah, p-please." Stiles breathes out, feeling himself sink into the heat of Scott's hand around his cock. "Scotty, p-please, I—" He reinforces, feeling a thousand different words at the tip of his tongue, even though his thoughts change to _please, please, please_ , over and over.

 

"It's okay, baby, hush," Scott smiles, and Stiles feels even more wrecked at the sight of Scott keeping his cool like this. He leans forward, taking a hold of Stiles' nipple again, this time the other, and it feels almost _new._  

 

Stiles almost chokes on his own tongue when Scott sucks relentlessly and works his hand at the same time. Scott's hand jobs are a thing of wonder, the tight grip and flick of the wrist, how his thumb runs over the head on cue—it all drives Stiles insane, the heated pressure at the small of his belly growing warmer and warmer as Scott's movements fasten. This time, though, everything's heightened, wider and it makes him restless. He's writhing as Scott practically nurses on him, sucking nonstop like he's starved for it, and Stiles will be damned if it doesn't make tears pool at his eyes, the pleasure overcoming his body entirely. 

 

He feels absolutely spent, even though his body's riding energy like there's no tomorrow, "Scotty, I can't," He flat out whines, high and lost, and all Scott does is squeeze the head of his cock before stroking again, " _Scotty!_ I—s'too much, so—so—" Stiles stutters, pulling Scott back by the hair. He so desperately wants to come, he needs to, he's so close, and he doesn't know how can his be both too much and not enough. 

 

Scott doesn't let himself be maneuvered, keeping himself where he is, with the difference of his free hand running up to clamp Stiles' other nipple and roll the nub in between his fingers. Stiles gasps as Scott tugs and pulls, presses and rolls again, playing with him like he's a fucking toy. And Stiles loves it, getting lost in just how heavy and incoherent he feels, not a single thought worth a word that's not a raspy, wrecked, " _Scott!_ " And, god, he's trying—he's trying so hard not to be loud, but Scott's so good at this—at everything, so perfect and driven, it's hard not to let the name roll off of his tongue like a desperate plea.

 

Scott's response is to stroke him faster, work his nipples harder, and hum in a silent encouragement. Stiles feels Scott's hard-on sliding against his leg, watching the traction of Scott's ass as he does, everything accumulating to the feeling of his body about to burst and catch in flames—and his mind whites out. His hips jerk forward, fucking right into Scott's hand, and there's a groan ripping through his throat, reverberating before Stiles can do anything about it. Scott milks Stiles for all he's got, stroking tighter and slower now, his tongue practically seizing all work. 

 

"You ok?" He asks after a moment, looking up at Stiles with a lazy smile.

 

Stiles feels like mush, his bones too heavy and loose, eyes dazed, and he's sure there are at least two tears streaming down his face. "That would not describe it." He chuckles tiredly and squirms when Scott licks his nipple languidly. It's something barely there, but he's overly sensitive, skin too thin and blood pumping everywhere. "You can quit that now!" Stiles points out, a little too high pitched for his own liking.

 

"I know. But I like it," He shrugs. "And I didn't get off." 

 

Stiles' eyebrows shoot up when he's reminded of that, and he runs a hand through Scott's hair, "Well, we've got all night to change that." He pulls his boyfriend up by the shirt, longing for a kiss, "But we have to be very quiet. I don't want my dad banning sleepovers yet." 

 

Scott raises an eyebrow, huffing out a laugh, "Quiet like _you_ were? Yelling my name and all?" He nuzzles his nose through Stiles' cheek, and Stiles can almost hear his smirk.  

 

"Are you mocking me after ambushing me into this heavy nipple play shit?" He reprimands, listening to Scott laugh away, "That's it! Scott, I think we need to see other people."

 

"No one's gonna play with your puffy nipples like that." Scott says immediately, his after-sex confidence showing, and Stiles flails, embarrassed to his last very last bone.

 

"Oh my god! Get out of my bed!" 

 

 


End file.
